


broken bones & halved hearts

by myvoidedeyes



Series: (we are) lost boys [6]
Category: Hemlock Grove
Genre: Aftermath, Anger, Angst, Blood and Violence, Grief, Hemlock Grove - Freeform, Hurt, M/M, Mentions of Violence, Minor Violence, Rumancek, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-06-20 09:03:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15530856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myvoidedeyes/pseuds/myvoidedeyes
Summary: he was swimming in a sea of red, and it wasn't all blood





	broken bones & halved hearts

Everything was so, _so_ red. And he was drowning in it.

            The blood he could handle, could find bittersweet revelry in, viscous and body-hot; the anger was too heavy, too _much_ , spilling over from the volcano of his open wound. It built like a wall over his senses, roaring the desire to bite and tear and _hurt_ through his veins, echoing the cacophony in his ears. And nothing was enough.

            It didn’t matter the body count, the pounds upon pounds of flesh he had taken, had stepped over in his pursuit of more, nor the liters and liters of blood that he’d sprayed, painted every surface he could find with, filling himself last of all. The broken pulse of the anger that accompanied his every breath would not be dulled, and the gape left in his stomach would even less be closed, the organs left dangling be put to their place.

            He wore the colour crimson like a second skin: a fleshy cocoon he treated like armour, beating its way inside and out.

Because it was easier.

            Easier to maim and kill, to take his vengeance for the shatter in his chest than it was to accept reality. To accept the truth they had both known would face them, one day. Easier than watching the movie that played behind his eyelids every time they closed, reliving the faint _crack_ of a body broken. Easier than remembering he was alone. Again.

            Sure, he had her. Had too-intelligent eyes that watched him as he laid her in her crib, eyes that tracked the motion of the ring dangling around his neck as he smoothed his finger over her own. But she was still so small, so fragile. Still too young to understand. He wondered if she’d even remember: _him_ , their makeshift family, any of it.

He almost wished _he_ could forget. Forget the monsters, the mysteries, the gypsy with the wary eyes and two-sided smiles: everything that led him to where he was. Maybe, if he could rip the memories out, could take all the pain and heartbreak away, he would. It might even be worth losing the only images—only _feelings_ —of being loved, wholly and truly, he’d ever had.

If only to make the hate, the anger, the hurt, stop.

But he couldn’t, was too selfish to let go of the warmth, of the long-gone feeling of rough hands on his skin, the prickle of facial hair moving down his body. All because he couldn’t live without the ghost that followed him, flashing in his peripheral and touching him in the dark of the night. That soothed their baby in the night, pulling those secretive giggles he never could coax from her tiny chest.

So he held tight instead, let the anger blaze, breaking and bruising his way as if he could spill enough blood to douse the fire.

He’d have to face _it_ eventually. Would have to come to terms with the body in the box, the one he hadn’t been able to watch go into the ground.

Until then, though, he was death.

And he was hungry.


End file.
